


Pure

by silentdescant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Cutting, M/M, Pureblood Culture, Running Away, Scarification, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Toujours Pur,” Remus reads aloud. “What does that mean?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sirius lies. “Family motto.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure

Sirius knows his parents are disappointed, even angry, about his Sorting. Blacks have been Slytherins for generations; it’s a legacy. He’s received the angry letters, rants from his mother written in spiky black ink. He almost wishes they were Howlers, but his mother wouldn’t want to cause a scene, not one that could shame her as much as it would her son.

The problem is, Sirius likes being in Gryffindor. He’s made an excellent friend already, and he gets along well with his other two roommates. They’re both quieter than he and James, but just as clever and funny and devious. So Sirius is nervous about going home for the holidays. All three of the other boys are leaving to spend time with their families, and they seem excited about it. During the train ride, Sirius tries to project the same excitement while his guts are squirming and knotting inside him.

Lupin finds his family first. They seem an alright sort, if a little shabby. Sirius knows most of Lupin’s school things are secondhand, but there are worse things to be than poor. His parents hug him and his mother kisses his cheek too many times to count. Lupin’s face goes bright red and Sirius can’t help but smile foolishly at his embarrassment.

James’s parents weave through the crowd to get to him. Sirius has never met them before, even though he knows James’s mother from his own family tree. She hasn’t been disowned by the Blacks; Sirius’s family just finds her not worth thinking about. She’s very nice and fusses over Sirius and Peter as well as her own son, which is a little bit fun. They’re reluctant to leave Sirius and Pettigrew alone until Pettigrew assures them that his parents are always late and he’s used to it.

Only a couple of minutes after the Potters leave, Sirius spots his old governess, an old woman with severity to rival Professor McGonagall’s, with his little brother Regulus in tow.

“You have your things?” she asks shortly. She doesn’t embrace him, like Lupin’s and James’s parents, but Sirius wouldn’t want her to. He nods. “Then stop dawdling and let’s go. And stand up straight, you look a right mess. What will your parents think…” She continues muttering under her breath but Sirius pays her no attention, instead waves to Pettigrew and murmurs a hello to his brother.

“Mum’s angry with you,” Regulus whispers as they follow Mrs. Darby through the station.

“I know.”

“Did you really get sorted into Gryffindor?”

Sirius shoots him a withering look. “Obviously. But it’s not that bad. The other boys are nice, and they’re definitely more fun than the wankers in Slytherin. I wouldn’t want to live with them anyway.”

Dinner at home is a very formal affair. Mrs. Darby dresses Sirius in set of black robes with emerald green embroidery around the collar, which Sirius takes as a passive-aggressive slight against Gryffindor. Regulus’s robes are plain black. They don’t talk much during the meal. At Mrs. Darby’s glare, he straightens his posture, but his parents make no mention of it. His father asks a few pointed questions about Sirius’s marks, and what subjects he’s good at, and Sirius replies that he and his best friend are the top of their class in Transfiguration and Charms. He’s told to work harder in Potions and History of Magic, which are Sirius’s two least favorite subjects.

His mother ignores him completely. She ignores everyone, actually, even Regulus, who has always been better behaved than Sirius. She only speaks once, instructing Mrs. Darby to have Regulus study his Astronomy on the roof tonight. Regulus hates Astronomy, so Sirius gives him a conspiratorial grin and whispers, “It’s great when you get to Hogwarts, though, because you’ll already know everything.”

“If I’ll learn it there, why do I have to study it now?” Regulus grumbles under his breath. Unfortunately, Mrs. Darby hears him.

“Because your parents wish it. Now, upstairs with you.”

They leave Sirius alone at the table with his parents. The house elves take the dishes and serving platters away, and then they come back for the candles, the flower centerpiece, the salt and pepper shakers, and finally the table cloth. Sirius watches curiously. He wants to leave, but he hasn’t been excused.

“Sirius,” his mother says sharply, when the table is bare. “Come here.”

Heart pounding with trepidation, Sirius stands up and slowly walks to his mother’s side.

“Gryffindor?” she asks.

“Yes, mother.”

“I don’t want you associating with half-bloods and blood traitors,” his father puts in.

“Or those filthy mudbloods,” his mother hisses.

“You’d do well to make friends with people in Slytherin. Or even Ravenclaw. They’re a better sort.”

Sirius gapes at him for a moment. “A better sort, sir?” he asks incredulously. “I have friends in my own house and they’re all a good sort.”

His mother’s mouth puckers. It looks as though she’s biting the inside of her cheeks in an effort to control her anger.

“The only people I don’t want to associate with are the ones in Slytherin,” Sirius continues, thinking of the snide, horrible boy he and James made immediate enemies with. “They’re all bloody wankers.”

“Roll up your sleeve and hold out your arm,” his mother snaps.

Sirius boggles at her, confused, but does as he’s bid. He lifts the left sleeve of his robes up past his elbow and holds his arm out straight in front of her, his hand clenched into a fist. To his surprise, she takes out her wand and grasps Sirius’s wrist, twisting until the underside is facing up.

She doesn’t mutter an incantation, but as she traces her wand along Sirius’s pale forearm, an elegant scrawl appears with a flare of bright, hot pain. The cursive letters well up with blood, and as it drips onto the table, Sirius thinks, wildly, _This is why they got rid of the table cloth_. His mother’s firm hand around his wrist keeps his arm still, but the rest of Sirius’s body curls and twists in pain. He hunches over, grabs at his elbow, stomps his foot against the floor, and eventually realizes he’s screaming.

Finally, finally, she lets go of Sirius’s wrist and he crumples to his knees on the floor, gasping fair air as he cradles his arm against his chest. There’s blood all over the front of his robes, now, staining the green with Gryffindor red. Sirius grits his teeth at that thought and lets out a sudden, sharp laugh.

He looks at the words etched onto his arm. _Toujours Pur_ , it says, the script beginning near the inside of his elbow and extending almost all the way to his wrist.

“A reminder,” his mother says coldly. With another wave of her wand, the cuts stop bleeding, but they don’t fade, they’re still a harsh, vibrant red against Sirius’s pale skin.

“You’re a Black, Sirius, and my heir,” his father adds distantly. “You must remember that.”

***

“What’s that? Did you hurt yourself?” Lupin asks. They’re back on the Hogwarts Express, and Sirius is reaching for a chocolate frog on the opposite bench. His sleeve has pulled up enough to reveal the white bandage Sirius has wrapped around his arm.

Sirius hastily yanks his sleeve down. “Yeah, a bit. Fell down the stairs and cut my arm on the step,” he says. He’s practiced this lie. The cut is fully healed and no longer hurts, but the words remain, bright and obvious. Sirius hopes they’ll fade with time.

“And you didn’t get it healed?” James asks.

“It just happened as I was leaving for the station,” Sirius mutters. “I’ll see Madam Pomfrey about it when we get back.”

He does see Madam Pomfrey about it, and she gives him a sad, apologetic look and says there’s nothing she can do. It’s some kind of cursed scar. She does say that it will fade, though, which is the only spot of happy news.

Sirius can’t keep the bandage on forever, though, and it’s Lupin again who notices the final letter of the scars when Sirius’s sleeve shifts up. He doesn’t say anything, but Sirius flushes red and can feel his mate’s eyes on him all through breakfast and their morning lessons.

Lupin catches him that evening as they’re changing and holds onto his wrist. “You didn’t cut your arm on the step,” he says unnecessarily. He tilts his head. “Toujours Pur,” he reads aloud. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius lies. “Family motto.”

“Hm.” It’s obvious Lupin doesn’t believe him. It’s also obvious that he’ll be looking up what the words mean as soon as this conversation is finished. “Does it hurt?” he asks. “Is that why the bandage was on?”

“Not anymore,” Sirius assures him. “Just don’t tell the others, alright? I know it’s strange.”

Lupin’s eyes are bright and curious as he nods. “Alright.”

***

Sirius is sixteen when he decides he’s had enough with his family’s blood mania. Some of his good friends are half-bloods or muggleborns, and they’re no different from him and James and the rest of the purebloods at Hogwarts. Remus is better than anyone at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Lily is top of their class in Potions. They’re all nice, friendly people, with the same problems and insecurities as Sirius, and he’s tired of his parents insisting he’s somehow better than they are. If anything, they’re better than he is, because they don’t have that nagging, brittle voice in the back of their minds whispering foul things about their friends.

Sirius loathes being home for the summer now, but his friends are all away on their own holidays and there’s nowhere else for him to go. He doesn’t hide his disapproval of his family’s politics now, but that almost makes it worse.

His father ignores him, pretends he doesn’t even exist. He begins treating Regulus like his only son, giving him family heirlooms that would normally go to Sirius, which surely means Sirius will be disowned soon. Regulus at least looks ashamed of this, but he doesn’t fight it. He accepts their father’s praise and gifts and talks to Sirius less and less.

Sirius’s mother, on the other hand, takes to sneering at him and making snide comments about his friends and their lack of purity whenever Sirius passes her in the hall or sits at the table for dinner. Sirius starts eating alone in the kitchen, after everyone has gone to bed.

Sometimes he can’t help himself, though, and he barks right back at her. They have screaming rows that usually end with Sirius storming off in a rage. One day she finally snaps, drawing her wand in the middle of her screeching tirade. It doesn’t even occur to Sirius to draw his own, and suddenly there are vines twining around his arms and legs like snakes, forcing him down to his knees and holding him still.

She grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head back. “You’re filthy,” she screams at him. “You’re as dirty as they are. You’re a disgrace to the purity of this family.”

Then she pulls up the sleeve of his right arm. The vines tighten around his wrist, forcing it straight. She slides her wand against his skin and just as it had all those years ago, pain erupts with the spill of blood as words carve into his body.

 _Blood Traitor_ , she writes, this time not in elegant cursive but in her own spiky, angry handwriting.

Sirius grits his teeth against the pain, breathes harshly through it, determined not to make a sound, but as he sees the words she’s etching into him, he starts crying, knowing the scars will never go away.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he says endlessly as he loses all other thoughts.

She ignores him. His blood drips into a puddle on the floor. There’s a lot more of it this time than there was before. She’s angry now, and careless.

When she finishes, the vines disappear into smoke and Sirius falls onto his hands. They slip in the blood and he stares down at it, too stunned to speak. She doesn’t heal the cuts this time, just bends to speak into his ear.

“Your blood is as filthy as theirs.”

Fiery rage alight in his gut, Sirius pushes himself to his feet and wrenches up his left sleeve, where _Toujours Pur_ still stains his skin in faded pink lettering. He clenches his fist and holds his arm out between them.

“No, mother, it’s not. But I wish it was.”

“Get out of my house!” she screeches at him. He does so gladly, leaving everything behind but his wand.

***

Before going back to school, Sirius wraps his freshly scarred arm in another bandage. The first only lasted until he’d reached James’s house and Mrs. Potter had healed him right up. She’d given him kind, sympathetic looks for the rest of the summer. She was a Black, Sirius remembers now.

James doesn’t talk about the new words on Sirius’s arm. He’s not shy about looking at them, but Sirius doesn’t want to talk about it and so James doesn’t ask.

Sirius manages to hide the bandage until they’re up in the dormitory, unpacking their trunks. Sirius doesn’t have much in his, just this year’s school books, a second set of robes, and some of James’s clothes. He feels Remus watching him and turns around.

Remus reaches for his hand. He touches the edge of the bandage under Sirius’s sleeve. “Sirius,” he says quietly. “What does it say?”

“Nothing.”

“James told me you ran away from home.”

“That’s not quite what happened,” Sirius mutters.

“Please show me.”

Wordlessly, Sirius lifts his sleeve and unwinds the bandage. His old scar has faded over the years to a pale pink, still visible but easy to overlook. This one is still dark, blood red and looks like a fresh wound, even after a month of healing at the Potters’, and Sirius is beginning to wonder if it will ever fade.

“Sirius,” Remus breathes.

“It’s alright, Moony. It doesn’t hurt. I’m sure it will fade soon,” Sirius says quickly.

“Did your mother do this to you?”

“Remus, it’s fine. I promise you. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

Remus bends and presses his lips to the disfigured skin. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

Sirius shakes his head. He needs Remus close, needs to hold him, needs to kiss him for real. “I’m not,” he replies, and does.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
